The Wrong Deductions
by MrsThreepwood
Summary: Sherlock thinks John cheats on him and does something more than a bit not good.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock had a military kink. From the moment he found a magazine about the British Army in his brother's room, he knew that uniforms, ranks and danger got him off as quickly as nothing else.

So it was no surprise to him that his orgasm was building up rapidly as he grabbed strands of short sand coloured hair of the soldier beneath him. His bare feet brushed knees clad in camouflage fatigues and whenever he could tear his eyes away from the very talented mouth sucking his cock, he caught a glimpse of an olive green vest barely hiding a well build chest.

Being sucked off by a soldier made Sherlock's mind calm down for at least a few minutes and he lost himself in the sensations. Soft groans turned into loud moans as his toes flexed and tried to get a hold of the hardwood floor.  
It wasn't until he shot his load down this lovely throat that he heard a very familiar voice behind his back.

"Sherlock. What... what the BLOODY HELL are you doing here?", John shouted from the doorway. He looked furious, disappointed, hurt and unbelieving – all at the same time. His gaze wandered from Sherlock's bare ass to the blond woman in her early twenties kneeling on the floor. Her eyes went wide and without a second thought she jumped up, grabbed her jacket from the chair – John's chair! - and practically fled the scene while murmuring "Sorry, didn't know he was taken...".

John expected Sherlock to stutter, to babble an excuse how it was for a case or at least to blush and feel guilty. But his boyfriend, maybe soon to be ex-boyfriend, just turned around calmly while tucking first his cock into his pants and then his shirt into his trousers and smiled at him. The bastard felt smug enough to act like nothing happened at all.

"John, you're home early. Though I'm not sure I understand why you're so upset."

"You don't... Sherlock... I don't even. How could you possibly not know what's wrong? You just had someone... someone who wasn't ME... suck you off in the middle of OUR living room. Up until now I thought we were committed but right now I'm not so sure what you thought we'd were in the last two years."

Without losing his smile, Sherlock took two long steps towards the fuming doctor.

"Oh, I thought we'd be monogamous as well. But that was of course until I discovered that you don't regard our relationship as exclusive as I did. So I thought I could have a bit of fun on my own as well. It doesn't do any harm, does it? Maybe it's even better when we..."

His sentence was abruptly finished by John holding up his hand.

"Wait. Stop right there. What on earth made you think I wouldn't be faithful to you?", John said, his voice heavy with emotion.

"You can drop the act, John. You tried to hide it of course. But in the last seven weeks you stayed out at least two hours longer on nine different occasions. Yet you didn't take any more hours at the clinic or meet up with Gavin for a pint. So who was it then? Now that way easy. Sarah. You'd go out with her directly from work. How I knew? You practically jumped out of the room every time she called you and I was near. You got messages from her but deleted them as soon as you've read some. So clearly an affair it was."

His tone was icy, cleared from any sentiment. It took Sherlock a couple of days to get over the fact John was cheating on him or at least had a very different view of their relationship and he didn't want his partner to see how hurt he truly was.

"You are wrong."

"Shut up, John, I'm never wrong."

"This time you are. Yes, I have been seeing Sarah. But not for sex or whatever you thought it was. We're just friends and I trusted her enough to help me with something. Plus she isn't connected to you like Molly so she wouldn't spoil the surprise."

John's eyes were glued to the floor as he didn't have to strength to look Sherlock into the eye after his act of betrayel.

"What now, are you trying to tell me you're organizing a surprise birthday party? Come on, I'm not an idiot, as you surely must know by now. It's June and my birthday is in..."

"I know your birthday is in January, Sherlock. You know what? It doesn't matter any more. I'm done. So you can have your surprise right now. Do with it whatever you want. Sell it, keep it, throw it away. I don't care."

Rummaging through his coat pockets, John's voice grew louder and louder while Sherlock understood less and less.

"THAT's what I needed help with. Goodbye, Sherlock."

With his last words, John had slammed down a little black box onto their couch table before stumbling down the stairs. It didn't take a genius to deduce what would be inside. Yet Sherlock's mind refused to accept that he was wrong.

With shaking fingers Sherlock opened the box to find not only one, but two broad and simple silver bands inside. He couldn't hold back his tears any more when he read what the engravings said:

"Just the two of us..."  
"...against the rest of the world."


	2. Chapter 2

When John came to 221B (he refused to call it "home" any more) to retrieve his personal things after staying on Mike's couch for three weeks, he fully expected to be greeted by a black car or the man with the umbrella himself. Deep inside he hoped for Mycroft's arrogant voice telling him (again) that caring is not an advantage and that John should have stayed out of Sherlock's life.

The street was empty though, the brisk autumn night not being too inviting for a stroll and it seemed everyone had a loved one to be at home with.  
Well, everyone except for John.

The doctor fished his keys out of the pockets of his dark jeans. Sherlock's favourite pair on him, he remembered with a sad smile. Pushing the front door open, he saw a light coming from Mrs. Hudson's flat. He went to knock on her door which was left ajar but his former landlady was already on her feet and standing before him.

"Oh dear, it's good to see you're finally home. You two had quite a domestic, hadn't you? I'm worried about him, he hasn't left the flat since you stormed off. I brought him food but you know him, he's not one to eat a lot. Especially these days.", she said, almost on the verge of tears.  
"He's been worse that he was after your wedding. I don't know what to do about him any more. I'm sorry, you've finally come back and I'm chatting with you! You should go up, off you go, John."

With her last words, Mrs. Hudson shoved John in direction of the stairs, almost making him trip over the first step. When he first entered the house, he wanted to tell her he only came back for his belongings, but now he didn't have the heart to do so.

Instead he climbed the stairs, which seemed steeper and darker than ever, to go "into battle" as Sherlock might have put it. He feared to find the detective in a puddle of vomit, to have died from on overdose.  
But when he opened the hardwood door, said man seemed to be almost relaxed as he knelt in front of the fireplace, throwing pieces of paper into the flames.

"Uhm, hello... Sherlock. I just wanted to call you Mr. Holmes, but given our history that seemed stupid. So... you don't have to turn around. No need to make it more awkward than it is. I'm just here to get my stuff. Suppose you haven't already boxed it, so it might take a few minutes. Sorry to disturb you."  
All this he said rather to a mob of black curls than to the man himself. When John had reached the stairs that led up to his old room to fetch an empty bag, he was shocked to hear a thin voice instead of a full and dark baritone one.

"The answer... it would have been yes. You're probably not interested in knowing but I thought... well, I thought it would be easier to get over it. Now you know you're the one who won. My heart, my brain, this... I don't know what this is."

Without thinking about it, John crossed the living room, his hands balled as fists. When he reached Sherlock, he grabbed a bunch of dark hair and yanked the detective's head back.

"Don't you dare, Sherlock! Don't you dare making ME feel guilty and bad about it. YOU are the one who ruined everything. You knew about my trust issues. You knew how afraid I was of losing you after you threw yourself off a roof. Hell, you knew about my ex-wife who was lying and cheating on me the whole bloody time. And still...", he tightened his grip on Sherlock's head "still you decided to betray me. Because you think you know everything. Well, surprise! You don't."

John let his fingers slip from the hair he gripped fiercely and suddenly all of his strength left him. Sobbing quietly he slid down to the floor next to Sherlock who hadn't said a word since John started his rant. Instead he wanted to hug John, pull him close and tell him that everything will be fine. But he knew it was off-limits, so he simply shuffled a bit closer and listened to the sound of John's sobs as well as the gentle crackling of the fire.

At least five minutes went by before Sherlock dared to say something, fearing he might lose his only chance to solve the most important problem of his life.

"John. When I say I'm sorry, I know that it's not nearly enough. So I will spare you and me the pain of apologies that won't do any good. Instead I have to admit you're right. I'm not a smart man when it comes to relationships and it seems I have miscalculated. Or as you would say – I fucked up big time. If there's anything I could do to make you feel better, please let my know. I'd like to inform you that I was miserable over the last three weeks. Of course Mrs. Hudson has already told you so. But I didn't harm myself and I certainly didn't do any drugs. I'm sure Mycroft would be happy to confirm that."

When John didn't react at all, Sherlock took a deep breath before going on.

"I realized though that without you, I don't have any reason to live any more. Please don't regard this as a suicide threat. I'm simply stating my feelings here. You're not a part of my life, John. You ARE my life. Blogger, friend, lover, chef, caretaker, doctor. I wouldn't need any other person in my life if I had you. And I want you. With all of my brain. My brain, which makes some very stupid deductions once in a while. I know this whole... thing can't be fixed by telling you how I feel. I know there's work to do. But for you, John, I'd work on myself as hard as I can. I want to become a better human being for you. You know I'm not one to beg but tonight I am. Please John, come back home and give me a chance to prove that I could be the one you want to spend the rest of your life with. Please."

It took all of Sherlock's strength for him to sit and wait for an answer. Even if John would yell at him again, it would be welcome. He knew he should be the one making John happy instead of hurting him more than anyone else had ever done.  
Sherlock thought John must have fallen asleep when there was no response and he wanted to give in to temptation and turn his head to look at his doctor.

Even bigger was his surprise when he felt a head lean onto his shoulder and he noticed the light lemon smell of John's favourite shampoo.

No words were spoken that night and it was far from any "and they lived happily ever after". But it was a beginning to their very own fairy tale.


End file.
